Close Up
by define-serenity
Summary: [Sebastian/Blaine] Blaine's not usually affected by the naked male models he photographs for the magazine - until Sebastian Smythe appears that is. ONESHOT. COMPLETE.


**disclaimer:** without prejudice. the names of all characters contained here-in are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. no infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.

**author's notes:** written for Lauren : )

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**Close Up;;**

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"God, you're cute," Sebastian mutters before sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, sucking it a swollen red that leaves it sore and pulsing. Sebastian eases his crotch against his with greater care than he thought him capable of, but his cock hardens at the thought, of shedding the scarce layers between them, of sun-tanned skin against his own and wading in the attention of one of the most beautiful men he's ever seen.

This has never happened to him before, he's usually far more professional in his dealings with the male models he shoots. But when Sebastian strolled into the studio earlier, tossing off his robe and smirking a cocky, "How do you want me?" at him, a breath caught in his throat the moment he met Sebastian's green eyes, his skipping from one freckle to the other strewn across the taller man's skin, shamelessly dropping down to where his cock showed through the long PJ bottoms he wore.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, replacing the lens on his camera to give his eyes something else to do besides objectifying the gorgeous male specimen so eager to catch his attention. "Just—there, thanks," he managed to choke out, while his throat closed up around a strange and unknown sensation.

Most of his friends and colleagues considered him a pretty laidback guy, highly adaptable and stress-resistant, a hippie who walked around his sets barefoot. But as he crouched down for a low-angle shot his lens afforded him the time and the freedom to stare at Sebastian all he wanted, without anyone questioning his intentions. And his thighs quivered.

Sebastian Smythe was fairly new to the industry, younger than him, and the teeth-filled smile, the poetic alliteration his name curled into and his gorgeous body had sold most of the big names in fashion. So it was only a matter of time before he ended up in front of his camera. He'd been commissioned to shoot tasteful nudes for a photography book series being published later this year, and most of his time these past few weeks had been spent on it.

And it wasn't like there hadn't been models equally trim and graceful as Sebastian, similarly effortless in their looks as he seemed to be—last week Sam Evans vied for his attention between jokes and brilliant impressions of action heroes. Sam was cute and outspokenly interested in him, but he'd never cross the line with any of his models; he took pride in his professionalism, and just because he was gay didn't mean he became uncontrollably attracted to every model that graced his photographs.

Sebastian, however, challenged those convictions with little to no effort.

The physical attraction ran more urgent than any he had ignored before. Maybe it was Sebastian's eyes, or the smile that turned almost boyish when he really tried, because it wasn't simply his body. He started with some clothed shots, to get everyone in the right mood and give his assistants time to set up the correct lighting, and when Sebastian cast his eyes up at him, something sweet and innocent doused around his eyes, he knew he was in for a world of trouble.

Because Sebastian read his mind, every new pose more distracting than the previous, like when he teased his fingertips past the hem of his sweats, pulling them lower around his waist to accentuate the deep onset of his hipbones. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Sebastian had no problems approaching him between new set-ups.

"Are you always work and no play?" Sebastian asked, still half-naked, and he truly dreaded the moment those sweats would come off—he had problems staying in control already, what would happen once Sebastian bared himself completely?

He failed to meet Sebastian's eyes. "I like to keep things professional."

"So no chance of me shooting you, then?"

His eyes shot up, something far more playful in Sebastian's. "Excuse me?"

Sebastian smiled, a little too easy, "You've got a face for camera," he said, reaching a hand out to thumb over his jaw, eyes undressing him. "And your ass—"

"Sebastian," he cut in, no longer able to ignore how wide his assistant's eyes had gotten since Sebastian started flirting; Quinn tended to rub that in every chance she got since he broke up with Jeremiah.

"Sorry," Sebastian grinned, raising his hands in surrender. "I call things like I see them."

And he got used to models being charming and flirty a long time ago, being blatantly open about their interest, but he'd never _blushed like this before_, his cheeks aflame due to Sebastian's flattery.

"Guess I lack your artistry."

He blinked, and frowned, unable to decide what Sebastian referred to. "What do you mean?"

"You don't see the world like it is," Sebastian said, eyes softening, his features less sharp than they were a few moments ago. "You see something more—" a smile played around the corners of his lips, "—magic realistic."

And that was the exact moment, Sebastian tracked backwards onto the set and winked and his heart stuttered around the most singular sensation. He never experienced models as dumb or clueless in any way, but they didn't usually try to impress him with their insights on photography.

Sebastian had him; hook, line and sinker.

He couldn't escape it after that, Sebastian's lingering stares, the knot in his stomach once Sebastian eased out of the PJ bottoms and lay down on the steel blue bed reserved for the final half of the shoot, the way his eyes lost focus during the long shots, unguarded for infinitesimal small moments—he felt privileged to be the one to witness Sebastian's walls coming down, to see the boy beneath the man for however long it lasted. He wanted to walk over and straddle Sebastian's hips, shoot him up close and personal to dig deeper, to get him truly naked, to shed the lenses altogether and let his eyes fill in anything magic realistic.

But he kept reminding himself he was surrounded by a team of assistants, and he was a professional.

Yet somehow they'd ended up here, his team gone for the night, and after whispering "He's single, by the way" in his ear, Quinn had all but run out of the studio, leaving him alone with Sebastian. He can't be sure why Sebastian lingered after the shoot, but at least he had the decency to get dressed, even if it was in simple washed-out jeans and a white V-neck shirt that didn't leave much to the imagination.

The studio has never felt this empty, sounded hollow and devoid of its usual vibrancy, like something had sucked out all the life so that Sebastian could stand out all the more—he knows that's his own fickle fantasies that have colored outside the lines, and his thighs still tremble at the thought of all the possibilities.

He hooks his camera up to his computer, downloading the final batch of pictures, while Sebastian hovers towards the portraits on the walls. Sebastian has shed his shoes as well.

"No Friday night plans?" he calls, even though he has no plans of his own—most people in his line of work would use nights like these to get their product out, to sell themselves to the big fashion magazines, but that's why he hired Quinn; she's a PR dream.

Sebastian turns around, several steps between them. "You tell me," he smirks, and he'd be a complete fool not to realize what Sebastian's implying with those few choice words.

He focuses on the monitor again, but all that offers him are nude pictures of the boy whose eyes he's trying to avoid, all complicated lines and sharp edges, a pinnacle of beauty.

"So who do you go home to tonight, killer?" Sebastian asks, and his cheeks start burning all over again, like a match has been struck against them.

"No one, at the moment." He looks up at Sebastian slowly. "I don't really have the time."

"Shame." Sebastian tracks closer, eyes sweeping down his body again, lips parted in a bemused smile. "I'd have an idea or two on how to waste your time."

He swallows hard, letting his camera slip into its assigned bag, his palms sweaty. So maybe he does realize why Sebastian staid behind, why he continued to wade in his presence long after his services were required, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to break all his rules right here and now. He never let his models become a possibility, fearing that those entanglements would get people talking and sully his reputation, but he's all too aware that closes him off from things he might want, things he might need. Things he might even like.

He licks his lips. "Do you flirt with all your photographers?" he asks, more a test for himself than Sebastian—he can't have Sebastian think he'd do this with anyone.

Sebastian grins. "Most of them aren't as cute as you." He comes another step closer, teasing inside his personal space, but he doesn't back away. This must be what people call magnetism, body drawn to another beyond his control, beyond all common sense and his own morality—Sebastian's different, he's already stepped away from his camera, and he can't think about anything else but kissing him.

"Why do you ask?" Sebastian asks.

He rises on his toes to push his lips to Sebastian's mouth, but Sebastian rears back.

"Killer, please, what makes you think I'm that kind of guy?"

His heart skips a beat and fear cascades through him, "Shit, I'm sorry—" he says, inching away, and almost trips over his own feet.

Sebastian catches him by the arm and shakes his head, "You're too gullible," he chuckles, before meeting his lips in a kiss.

His fear subsides within seconds, heart beating up a firestorm as passion seers through him, Sebastian's hands on his face and his undecided on where to land, but he melts into the sensations. Sebastian strips off his shirt, walking them over to the bed he'd been spread over naked no half hour ago, and lies them down, settling between his legs.

Sebastian stares down at him, his breath fogging up his glasses. He laughs and tosses them further onto the bed, but not before Sebastian has hushed, "God, you're cute", sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, sucking at it so hard it throbs, easing his crotch against his with practiced ease. "So cute," he mutters, licking lines up and down his neck.

"Shut up," he moans and pulls Sebastian down for a kiss, tongue pushing past his teeth while his hips chase after Sebastian's, never getting enough, not enough friction, not enough Sebastian, not enough to finish off either of them.

He palms Sebastian's hard-on through his jeans, fumbling with the button, but he's not the least bit surprised Sebastian decided to go commando underneath—Sebastian shivers, wails a, "Blaine, please," and captures his lips again, drowning out any further pleas as he slowly starts jerking Sebastian off.

Sebastian releases his lips in a gasp, his cock leaking and his own painfully unattended. "Let me see you, killer," Sebastian whispers, heat racing down his spine at the suggestion.

He undoes his own pants and pulls out his cock, stroking himself a few times before Sebastian forces their bodies together—he's quick to take the hint and spits in his hand, opening his fist to envelop both of them.

"_Fuck_," he whimpers, Sebastian resting their foreheads together. His eyes skip between Sebastian's and where their cocks stroke together in the tight hold of his fist, and it isn't long before they're both coming in long drawn-out moans, clasping around each other's bodies, come splattering down on his shirt.

Sebastian's eyes dig into his. "So, is this how you seduce all your male models?" he asks, breathing labored. His hair's all messy and his pupils are blown, a soft blush in his cheeks—if at all possible he's even more beautiful.

"N-no," he stutters. "I—" He sighs and draws a hand through Sebastian's hair. "It's just you, I swear."

"Good." Sebastian smiles. "Because we should really do this again."

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